


Not a Matter of Mimicry

by Mighty_Ant



Category: Disney Duck Universe, DuckTales (Cartoon 1987), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Daisy and Scrooge have a conversation, Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, I watched a bunch of Regency era films and this was the result, Meet the Family, Overprotective Daisy Duck, Overprotective Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:48:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25539034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mighty_Ant/pseuds/Mighty_Ant
Summary: Daisy loves Donald Duck. She just wishes his family would believe her.
Relationships: Daisy Duck & Donald Duck, Daisy Duck/Donald Duck
Comments: 33
Kudos: 339





	Not a Matter of Mimicry

Daisy doesn’t let the comments get to her at first. 

While she can suffer her fair share of criticism, she loathes allowing anyone she cares about to bear the brunt of their own unjust recrimination. And she has come to care very deeply for Donald Duck. 

_ They don’t understand me,  _ he’d told her, sitting on the floor of the elevator with shame tightening his features. And yes his voice is garbled, it rasps as though his vocal cords are staging a revolt against him. But Daisy has gone her entire life ignored and unheard, and long since decided she would never inflict that feeling on anyone else. So to her mind, Donald’s voice rings clear as a bell. 

Beauty is subjective, which Daisy, as an aspiring fashion designer, is more than aware of. People have differing opinions, different tastes, with very little room for objectivity. But beauty can be more than a pretty face or a dress made painstakingly by hand; beauty can be something simple, like the confidence of a man ashamed of his voice singing in a crowded ballroom. Or more specifically, singing to  _ her _ . 

But she’s disarmed by his children, still strangers to her then, having no kind words for their uncle in response to his bravery. Not even Donald’s bandmates, so desperate to get on the It List they contrived a scheme to break into the party, seem to mind his voice as they go on performing as though nothing is amiss. Donald’s singing may not win any awards but it’s  _ his,  _ and passion has often outshone talent in her eyes. 

Not so in the eyes of his two boys, who have only casual criticism to offer.

_ Terrible.  _

_ The worst. _

Daisy lets it go this time, unwilling to disparage Donald’s kids before she’s properly met them. Though, as his eyes lock with hers, she stubbornly,  _ passionately  _ concludes that she could listen to him sing all night, if only he would keep looking at her like that. 

She tells herself that it’s normal for family to tease each other in ways an outsider might not understand. God knows she and Donna had a wealth of incomprehensible inside jokes, and could mock each other mercilessly when the urge arose.

Fortunately, Donna’s girls aren’t shaping up to be as snide as she and Daisy once were, though at all of nine years old there’s certainly time for that to change. But unlike their aunt and mother, April, May and June have two parents who cherish them and would sooner put out their own eyes than allow anything to happen to them. Even now, Daisy is certain that Clara Cluck is the best thing that could have happened to her sister. 

All this to say, families and the histories therein are deeply private affairs, and there is no family as private as the Ducks. 

Oh, Scrooge McDuck’s history has been told far and wide, and retold and reshaped and told again until it resembles little of reality. To date, there has yet to be an official Scrooge McDuck biography, though many unofficial versions have cluttered shelves and bookstores ever since he officially inherited the title of Richest Duck in the World some fifty odd years ago. 

Daisy herself picked up a copy or two in her idle youth, when the romance of a life of adventure sounded a heavenly distraction from the stresses of the real world. Fleeing her parents’ house the day after her eighteenth birthday and sneaking Donna out with her, the rigors of college admissions and mingled terror and joy of accomplishing her dream of attending fashion school: all were somewhat dulled by the artistic license given to Scrooge McDuck’s discovery of an active volcano erupting liquid gold instead of magma, tightroping across the Grand Canyon, battling monsters of ice and stone. 

Daisy thinks about those biographies she read so avidly when she meets Scrooge McDuck in person for the very first time. 

Donald has been trying to act like he isn’t worried, but he holds her hand tightly the entire drive up to the mansion and stands tense beside her now, as though he’s just waiting for her to give the word and they’ll bolt back down the driveway. 

That’s nothing compared to Daisy’s own nerves. It’s nigh on impossible for her to wrap her head around the fact that not only is the handsome, ridiculous man who crashed the party of the year for his old college band and trapped them both in an elevator related to the perhaps the most powerful mortal individual on the planet but she, Daisy Duck, who is no one of consequence, has been invited to meet him. Not only that, but the invitation was  _ insisted  _ on. 

After four months of increasingly wonderful dates, Daisy has met all of Donald’s children and taken his sister out to lunch twice. But for a solid week now he has been fielding countless calls from his uncle, who it seems is very eager to meet his nephew’s girlfriend. 

Amid her incredulity and slight fear as their visit to McDuck Mansion looms nearer, Daisy realizes that nowhere in his uncle’s biographies does Donald feature. To her recollection, nowhere is Scrooge McDuck’s family deemed worth mentioning by the author, save to praise his courage in leaving them behind in Scotland at the tender age of thirteen. Only in the past year has the world at large come to know Scrooge McDuck and his family. Even then the glimpses have been brief, and only on television. For all of his worldly acclaim, very little is known about the person behind it all. 

Daisy believes she is offered a glimpse of just that when Scrooge McDuck himself is waiting to greet them just on the other side of the front door, opened by a tall woman who can only be his housekeeper. Although, her apron and cardigan are intimidatingly offset by a build more conducive to lifting cars than dusting furniture. 

Scrooge McDuck leans one-handed on his cane and reaches out to clasp her hand with the other. His grip is firm, which she appreciates. Too many men don’t see anything but her femininity and tend to shake her hand with a mockingly flimsy grip as though she were made of glass. 

“Daisy Duck!” he enthuses, and in all of the televised interviews and press conferences she’s seen, his sharp accent has never sounded so warm. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

Daisy laughs, fighting to maintain eye contact and not goggle at the criminally tall ceilings of the ornate foyer they’re standing in. “All good things, I hope.” 

“Och jings! Donald couldn't be persuaded to utter a cross word your way if he were plucked,” Scrooge McDuck replies in poor  sotto voce . Donald blushes and blusters behind her, which makes her smile. 

“Talking me up to your family?” Daisy says slyly, focusing on Donald as he takes to examining the rug with great purpose and rubs the back of his neck. “I’d hate to disappoint.”

“Not possible,” Donald says, valiantly ignoring his deepening blush. His voice grows raspier with nervousness, and he stops to clear it. “Everything I said was true.”

Daisy feels her own cheeks go pink and she quickly turns back to Scrooge McDuck. “I meant to say that you have a lovely home, Mr. McDuck. The architectural style reminds me of Glamis Castle.”

“Scrooge, please,” he corrects her kindly. Curiosity sparks in his eyes as he canted his head slightly to the side. “You’ve been to Glamis, Ms. Duck?”

“Glamis,  Eilean Donan, Dunnottar,” she lists, beaming. “Ms. Glamour put Scottish castles on the IT List two years ago; we must’ve toured every castle in the country at least twice. And please, call me Daisy.”

“Daisy, then,” Scrooge replies, looking pleased. “You’ve a keen eye, lass. Might I offer you a tour of my humble abode, if the novelty hasn’t yet worn off?”

Donald cuts in, his smile a tad too wide. “Actually, Uncle Scrooge, Daisy and I had lunch plans! And now that you two have met, we wouldn’t want to take up too much of your time—”

“Nonsense, Donald,” Scrooge retorts. “You got me out of my fifth board meeting this week, and I’m in no hurry to return to those vexatious vultures. Don’t worry, I’ll refrain from pulling out any baby pictures this time.”

Daisy does her best to stifle her snort behind her hand, but suspects she’s failed when Donald turns his pained, pleading expression on her. 

“Our lunch plans aren’t going anywhere,” she tries to soothe. “Besides, I’d love to see where you grew up.”

He grumbles in that wordless way of his that denotes his acquiescence, and Daisy beams. Unsure of how well he would receive a kiss in front of his uncle, even on the cheek, Daisy reaches out and threads her fingers through Donald’s, pressing their palms together. She faces Scrooge with smile undimmed, and stomach fluttering with nerves at the thought of exploring an honest-to-goodness mansion. 

“I’d be honored if you gave me a tour, Scrooge,” Daisy insists. 

Scrooge gives a short, sharp bark of a laugh, punctuated by stamping his cane once on the carpet. “I’m glad to hear it, lass. There are centuries of history in these walls, and I am more than happy to share it.” 

He offers his arm to Daisy, who accepts it eagerly. With her opposite arm she keeps a hold of Donald’s hand, turning them into a strange little procession as Scrooge begins to lead them down the hall. 

They haven’t crossed a single threshold before Scrooge’s housekeeper appears beside them, making Daisy jump. She’s a little embarrassed to be the only one. 

“Tea will be served in the westward sitting room at eleven o’clock,” she informs them in a prim British accent. 

“Aye, thank you, Beakley,” Scrooge replies. He glances over his shoulder. “Shall we begin with the west or east wing, Donald? Huey tells me there may be a mouthy mimic posing as a chest of drawers in the east wing, and I don’t believe the west wing has recovered from the last time the girls tried to summon a Jersey Devil.”

Donald meets Daisy’s eye with such a comical expression of apprehension that she bites her bottom bill to contain a truly unladylike snort of laughter. 

“Why don’t we start with the east wing and go from there?” she suggests sunnily. 

  
  
  


A mimic, Daisy learns, is a mischievous, shapeshifting creature that delights in frightening and oftentimes biting unsuspecting passerby. As they can take the shape of any non living object, it is impossible to know what is and isn’t a mimic until they choose to reveal themselves. Donald takes on the responsibility for weeding it out almost from the moment they enter the east wing, turning down any of her offers to help. And when she sees the true extent of the impedimenta Scrooge McDuck decks his walls and floods his rooms with, Daisy finds herself relieved Donald didn’t take her up on her overture.

Scrooge is generous in his tour, sparing little detail and emphasizing the truly outrageous. There are masks from the Congo, spears belonging to Lief Erickson, gifts from kings and queens and tribal chiefs. Lightning in a bottle, courtesy of Zeus, Baba Yaga’s pestle, and countless portraits depicting Scrooge that go back more than a century. 

Daisy is a woman well aware of her worth and not one for self-pity, but presented with such a legacy, such a richness of family history, she feels practically insignificant by comparison. For so long now, her sister and her nieces have been her whole world. She just never realized how small that world was until now. 

Her maudlin ruminations are thankfully dimmed by Donald himself, who is so lacking in pretense or conceit as to be the definition of modest, sometimes to the point of self-detriment. She watches him now, rushing ahead of them to prod at every object on the walls and atop tables in search of the mimic before she or Scrooge can risk coming across it. From their first meeting he has been unfailingly sweet, in both his bumbling and his protectiveness, and she would have him no other way. 

Donald takes Scrooge’s cane to aid him in his inspections, using it to suspiciously prod at every object he encounters. Daisy might have worried for Scrooge’s safety without it had the man himself offered more than a token protest at its theft. As it is, Scrooge doesn’t lean on her even slightly for support, leading her down his many grand halls with her hand tucked into the bend of his arm and no indication of difficulty in his step. It makes Daisy wonder at the need for a cane at all. 

She startles, blinking hard, when she becomes conscious of Scrooge’s expectant gaze, and realizes she has entirely missed what he just said. 

Daisy shakes her head, fighting a rush of embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Scrooge, I didn’t mean to get distracted. What were you saying?”

“No apology necessary, lass,” he replies. “I was merely asking after your career. Fashion designer, aye? I’ve no eye for it myself, though I understand it to be a lucrative field.”

Daisy laughs. “Only for a select few. It’s not easy to get any sort of spotlight in the fashion world if you don’t already have money or connections, neither of which I got as Ms. Glamour’s assistant. I worked on my designs for years because I knew that if I could get any of them on the IT List, well…”

“It would finally offer you a chance in the spotlight, I’d wager?” Scrooge suggests with a knowing smile. 

“The spotlight, speakers, microphone, heck, the entire stage,” Daisy replies, breathless just thinking about how drastically her life has changed in the last four months. Scrooge chuckles beside her. 

“I’m glad to hear it, lass. And gladder still that Donald has found himself in the company of such an industrious businesswoman.” He brings them to a stop in front of what Daisy swears is an original Monegg, letting Donald go on scouting ahead of them. Scrooge stares pensively at the painting, and Daisy suspects he’s not pondering how best to extoll its personal history. 

“When did my nephew reveal his family history to you?” Scrooge asks. The non sequitur takes Daisy aback as much as his demeanor does, Scrooge not quite meeting her eyes for the first time in their conversation. 

His question confuses her, however. “I’m sorry, Scrooge, I don’t...do you mean his parents? I know about what happened to Della, if that’s what you mean.”

Scrooge faces her head on, expression oddly guarded. “I mean, when did you learn I was his uncle?”

Daisy lets out a breath and a laugh at her own expense. “Oh, that! Well I’m a little embarrassed to say it didn’t click right away. I mean, it was weeks before Donald said a word but the kids were constantly mentioning their ‘Uncle Scrooge’ around me. I just didn’t think to put two and two together until Donald sat me down after our third date and told me flat-out. Not that I believed him, at least not at first. I’d never heard of you having any family, and Donald isn’t exactly what I’d picture the nephew of the richest duck in the world to look like.”

“Certainly not,” Scrooge says quietly as Daisy looks over at Donald fondly. His search has continued to prove fruitless, but she enjoys watching his expression of deep concentration give way to alarm with each inanimate item he prods, still diligently in search of the mimic. 

“I know Donald would never lie to me, but a big part of me still couldn’t believe it,” Daisy admits. “Up until we were standing on your front door, I  _ still  _ couldn’t believe it.”

Scrooge continues to look ill at ease, which does little to help Daisy’s nerves. “And did your opinion of my nephew change once you knew?”

Daisy chuckles once, unsure. “I  _ opined  _ that he should be getting more sleep if he really was chasing you around the world on those crazy adventures…” Reality rears its ugly head, and Daisy feels her face grow very warm as outrage begins radiating down to her very fingertips. All at the once, the opulence and intricate histories surrounding her become accusing, reminders of how vastly out of her depth she has been thrust. 

“Are you implying that I’m after Donald’s money?” Daisy wrenches her hand out of the crook of Scrooge’s arm, but keeps her voice low so as to not alarm Donald not fifteen feet away. “He doesn’t  _ have  _ any!”

Scrooge blinks, taken aback. “You already kenned that?”

“It was the second thing out of his mouth after ‘Scrooge McDuck is my uncle’,” she retorts hotly. 

It’s with great dismay that she realizes her feelings of insult are only outweighed by those of hurt. She’s upset, not just offended, that a member of Donald’s family would think so lowly of her. And not just a member, but the  _ head  _ of his family. Of all people to think her a gold digger she supposes the richest duck in the world has the most right, but it’s not as though it’s  _ Scrooge  _ she’s courting. 

“I didn’t know about his high and mighty relations when I met him, and even if I did it wouldn’t have mattered,” Daisy says. No matter how disappointed she might feel by the hasty judgement from Donald’s uncle, she isn’t about to let her affection for the man himself be called into question, not by anyone. 

“Working for Ms. Glamour I’ve seen the worst that wealth has to offer and I’m not about to become one of those shallow people who simpers and smiles in the hopes of a windfall. I don’t know where my relationship with Donald will go, but I  _ do  _ know that I don’t need his family name or his connections to get me where I want in life.”

Scrooge is beginning to look alarmed by her rise in temper, something Daisy appreciates with not a little vindication; to frighten the man who faces the most frightening circumstances the world has to offer. She catches him hazarding a glance Donald’s way, seeming to ensure for himself of his nephew’s continued distraction. It gives Daisy some relief to know that Donald wasn’t appraised of his uncle’s true intentions in summoning them both. 

Not that she’s planning on standing here and take any more of his unsubtle insinuations toward her intentions. 

Daisy draws herself up to her full height, gratified when she’s taller than the miser in her heels. “If that’ll be all, Mr. McDuck. Donald and I do have lunch plans to get back to.”

“Ach, wait just a moment, lass!” Scrooge says at once, his hands raised beseechingly. “I’m sorry to have offended you. Truly, I am. But you must understand my desire to be cautious, aye, even scrupulous toward someone who might do my nephew harm.” 

His words stay Daisy’s departure, and does the naked concern on his face. Her own brow knits in confusion. “I would never hurt Donald,” she begins to say. 

“Aye, the lad puts on a strong front,” Scrooge interrupts. “And he is a strong one, no two ways about it. He can take all the punches the world throws at him and more, far better than even I at his age. I admit that only to you in strictest confidence.” He winks, and Daisy allows him a small smile. 

However, it is Scrooge’s expression that falls to worry sooner than her own. 

“It is his heart that cannot suffer another blow, Miss Daisy. He is vulnerable to his family above all else, and I fear we have disappointed him greatly. First his sister, vanishing to the stars and leaving us all behind, her children most of all. And I, responsible for the rocket that took her away and abandoning Donald just as thoughtlessly, with three mouths to feed no less.”

Daisy’s eyes begin to burn with the incipience of tears and she carefully turns her face away from where Donald might see. While she knows Donald’s history, has heard all of this from him, it is different to hear it summated so plainly and so heavily with guilt. 

“Why are you telling me this?” she asks quietly. 

Scrooge meets her gaze frank. “Because Donald cares for you. Very much. Why, I cannae remember a time in his youth that he  _ agreed  _ to let me meet any lad or lass he was keen on. And yet, with you, he scarcely protested. You’re special. You’re not put off by the life of adventure we lead, or Donald’s temper or his voice—”

“Well, I have something of a temper too,” Daisy interrupts. A familiar sense of indignation blossoms beneath her sternum, like a hot air balloon rising. “And what about his voice?”

Scrooge shakes his head, perhaps the most surprised she’s seen him look all afternoon. “Nothing, lass. Just that...well, you are perhaps one of the few not to have anything to say against it.”

_ Terrible. The worst. _ All that and more Daisy had heard even complete strangers use to describe Donald’s voice. She wonders what they think gives them the right to say such things, or for Donald’s own family to expect it. 

Before Daisy can declare that not only does she not have a single complaint against Donald’s voice, but rather she could listen to him talk and sing and mumble if he wished for as  _ long  _ as he wished, the man himself begins to shout in earnest. 

Behind Daisy there is a monstrous roar and the sharp crack of splintering wood, both of which seem too loud for the compact hallway. She and Scrooge whirl around to see a chest of drawers has literally sprung to life, the middle splitting open unnaturally to reveal rows of pointed teeth and a massive, four foot long tongue. 

Donald stands before the abomination holding the splintered remains of Scrooge’s cane, using it to bat away the creature’s thrashing tongue. 

“I found the mimic!” he cries, at the same time Scrooge squawks, “Not my blasted cane!” 

Daisy grabs a sword out of a nearby umbrella stand and rushes in to help. 

Once the mimic is defeated, they retire to the westward sitting room for some excellently prepared tea, missing a few feathers and sporting only a handful of bite marks more than they did fifteen minutes ago. Here they talk about everything and nothing: Daisy’s upcoming fashion show, the boys’ progress in school, and the latest treasure map Scrooge has unearthed. 

Daisy does not speak to Scrooge alone again until they are preparing to leave. Donald is juggling their coats and his car keys and Daisy gives him a moment to sort himself out as she steps away to communicate in private with his uncle under the pretense of his gifting her a book on 19th century fashion. 

“I hope you won’t mention what we discussed to Donald?” Scrooge says as she steps into the family room after him. He winces, though with good humor. “I’d hold nothing against you if you did, Daisy, though I know my nephew will resent us for it. He’ll think we’re coddling him.”

Daisy is shaking her head before he’s even finished speaking. “I wasn’t going to—I’m sorry, ‘ _ us’ _ ?”

Scrooge chuckles uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck. He reminds Daisy so strongly of Donald in that moment she’s nearly taken aback. 

“I confess that I’m not the only one preoccupied with Donald’s wellbeing,” Scrooge says, apology suffusing his tone. “After our negligence leading to him stranded on the moon and later the isolated islet, most of us are less inclined to leave his happiness up to chance.”

“You mean the rest of your family?” Daisy asks, seeking to clarify. “They’re worried about...about me hurting Donald, too?” 

Judging by Scrooge’s hesitance, Daisy assumes he thinks she’ll be insulted. Truly, it’s much rather the opposite. Save Donald, there are only two people in the entire world who might care so much for  _ her  _ own wellbeing and safety. To know that Donald’s entire family might come out in force to vet her is humbling, though not a little alarming. It guarantees in her mind that Donald is every bit the good man she knows him to be. 

Daisy’s smile turns wry. “Who’s going to interrogate me next? Duckworth? I’ll actually be a little afraid if it’s Webby.” 

Scrooge laughs, brightening his features and relieving the concerned pall that had fallen over them. “Aye, as well you should be. My niece is not one to trifle with.”

“I would hope not,” Beakley says, appearing quite out of nowhere just behind Daisy’s left shoulder. 

Daisy yelps. “Are you sure you aren’t a ghost yourself, Mrs. Beakley?” she exclaims, pressing a hand to her chest while she tries to maintain her smile amid her surprise. 

Very little changes in Beakley’s taciturn expression, though Daisy suspects she’s laughing at her. “No, Ms. Duck. Just a spy.” 

Leaving Daisy blinking at her response, Beakley turns to Scrooge and hands him something from behind her back. “The book you requested, Mr. McDuck.”

“Ah, yes, thank you, Beakley,” Scrooge says. He looks back at Daisy with a smile. “Here we go. I am a man of my word, even when I utter it to provide a convenient excuse.”

He hands her the book, a medium-sized, aged tome of midnight blue. On the cover, the title is painted in an elegant hand. Daisy beams as she reads it aloud. “Victorian and Edwardian Fashions: A Photographic Survey.” 

“As an expert in the field I thought it would be of some interest to you,” Scrooge says. “Or at the very least make a pretty paperweight. And, hm.” He cleared his throat briefly. “This book belonged to my mum. I reckon she’d prefer it went to someone who might better appreciate its contents.”

Daisy is momentarily rendered speechless. “Your-your mom?” she stammers, moving to hand the book back. “But don’t you want to keep it? To preserve her memory?”

“Preserve her memory?” Scrooge repeats, scoffing. “Why would I ever want to do that? She already calls me every other Sunday. I needn’t any further reminders.”

Scrooge starts to walk back out of the room, leaving Daisy behind him to gather her wits. She’s long believed herself a woman adept at rolling with life’s punches, but it seems that this family goes out of its way to destabilize her footing. 

She hurries to catch up with him, offering what she hopes is a confident smile to Mrs. Beakley, who stays behind to hold the door open for her. 

Donald is still waiting for them in the foyer, wearing his coat instead of wrestling with it, and holding her own favorite pink peacoat draped over his arm. He perks up at their reappearance, looking Daisy up and down with such relief one would think he didn’t expect to find her in one piece. 

Before immediately returning to Donald’s side to assuage his frazzled nerves, she inclines her head toward Scrooge and speaks quietly, so as to not be overheard. 

“Scrooge, about what you said before? About feeling that family...that you’d let Donald down.”

Scrooge briefly pulls away to look her in the eye. His expression is shuttered. “Aye?” 

Daisy inhales deeply, in the hopes that it will bolster her courage. “Did you mean it?”

“I did,” he says stiffly, though his brow furrows, betraying his inner turmoil. “For ten years I failed my family utterly. I make no attempt to hide it.”

“Does he know that’s how you feel?” she prods gently. 

Scrooge shakes his head once, though he doesn’t meet Daisy’s eye. “He dinnae need me to tell him.” 

Daisy smiles, though it isn’t a happy expression. “Scrooge, if I had a family that cared about me even half as much as yours cares about each other, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do or say to keep them safe. But you’re not protecting Donald by not talking to him.”

Scrooge exhaled sharply through his nose. “Indeed not, lass. I was guided more by self-preservation there,” he says bitterly. 

Hesitating a moment, Daisy reaches out to press the lightest of touches to Scrooge’s arm. “I know that I’m not family, and I have no right to pry. But I will just this one time. Call it payback for implying I was a soap opera gold digger.” She finishes the last in a sly tone of voice, and is answered by Scrooge’s gasp of astonished laughter. 

“I won’t stop hearing about that anytime soon, will I?” he asks wryly. 

Daisy grins. “Probably not.” 

“Aye, and I’ll deserve it.” Scrooge glances back at the foyer. “Ah, but I’ve kept you long enough. Donald will keel over if we make him wait any longer. He’ll think we’re plotting something.”

“Well we wouldn’t want that,” Daisy aquieses. She holds out her hand. “Thank you again for the book and the tour, Scrooge.” 

Scrooge takes her hand warmly between both of his. “It was a pleasure to finally meet you, lass. And I wouldn’t count yourself out of the family just yet! Anyone who can wield a sword half as well as you is welcome here.”

Startled delight blossoms beneath Daisy’s fluttering heart, though only a widening of her smile betrays her. To be accepted by this sprawling, deranged family in any capacity is an honor she never could’ve imagined for herself. 

With a final round of goodbyes she returns to Donald’s side, who looks desperately happy to have her back and even more desperate to flee his own home. Daisy giggles as he hurries them out, though pulls him to a stop once they arrive at his car. She tugs him forward until he gets the hint and leans in to kiss her, brief and bright. 

“What were you and Uncle Scrooge plotting?” he asks once they’re in the car and have begun the long, winding journey down Killmotor Hill. 

Daisy drops her head onto Donald’s shoulder. “Oh, not much.”

He turns his head just enough to kiss her forehead. “Well now I’m worried,” he says. 

Daisy laughs. “Don’t be.”

“It wasn’t too much was it?” Donald begins to look nervous, his grip around the steering wheel fidgeting. “I know Uncle Scrooge can be a lot sometimes.”

“I think the richest duck in the world can afford to be a little eccentric,” she replies wryly. Her voice and features gentle. “I had a great time, Donald. Thank you for taking me to meet him.”

Donald blushes charmingly under his feathers, staring determinedly at the empty road before them. “I should be thanking you. Uncle Scrooge would’ve nagged me until the end of time otherwise. And…you’ve already met Della and the kids and it was only a little bit of a disaster.”

Daisy hums. “I seem to remember a dessert cart catching fire and something about spies being discovered in the kitchen.”

“That must be the fifteenth place we’ve been banned from,” Donald bemoans on a sigh. 

“Well, who needs some stuffy restaurant,” Daisy replies firmly. “We’ve got our own lunch plans.” 

Donald smiles down at her. “Ready for our picnic?”

“That depends. Are you keeping your promise to sing to me?”

He blushes fiercely, doing a terrible job to hide how pleased her question makes him. “My guitar’s in the trunk.”

“Then yes,” Daisy says, tilting her head back to kiss Donald on the cheek. “I’m ready.”    
  



End file.
